


Remire

by tarinumenesse



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anger, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Character Study, Childhood Trauma, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd Needs a Hug, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Time Skip, Revenge, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-28 06:29:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21132176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarinumenesse/pseuds/tarinumenesse
Summary: The events at Remire Village take Dimitri back to the darkest moment of his life, revealing the version of himself he has tried to hide. He struggles to deal with the shame of people knowing.A rewrite of Chapter 8: The Flame in the Darkness from Dimitri's point of view.





	Remire

**Author's Note:**

> This is set during and after the events of chapter 8 of the game. Sections of the dialogue are quoted from the game.

The sky was orange. Tongues of red flickered across its expanse as the air scolded Dimitri’s face. The oppressive heat blanketing the village was matched by the cacophony of screams and growls that burned his ears.

Dimitri did not recognize the place in front of him. The familiar structures were charred, collapsed piles of wood and stone. The roads were littered with the dropped possessions of those who had fled.

And there were bodies. Goddess, bodies everywhere. Bodies being set upon by feral forms.

The forms wore the clothes of the villagers, were in the shape of those kind people who had provided Dimitri with provisions the day before he met the professor for the first time. But they were no longer people. Their veins stood prominent against their emaciated necks. Their eyes were no eyes. They were empty, white orbs that twisted crazily in their sockets while searching for their next prey. The creatures screeched, sending a sharp shiver through Dimitri’s bones.

“Kill! Kill…”

The one closest to their party groaned in distress and collapsed. It twitched on the ground at Ingrid’s feet as she recoiled.

Dimitri’s mind faltered as pain stabbed at his temples. His vision narrowed to a slim tunnel as the ground tilted beneath his feet.

_…killed us…Tear…Destroy…_

“…going on here?”

Jeralt’s deep voice broke through the echo in Dimitri’s head. But his vision still blurred as he surveyed Remire Village, the haze created by the flames making him unsure of what he saw and what he imagined. A caved in house or the remnants of a burnt out carriage?

As Dimitri’s knees threatened to fold beneath him, he instinctively reached for Dedue. His friend…no, his brother…took Dimitri’s arm and steadied him.

“Are you all right?”

The voice was like a clear stream of sunshine cutting through the clouds. Dimitri blinked and saw stunning blue eyes and a frown. He tried to lift his weight from Dedue, but lacked the ability.

“I… Don’t worry about me,” Dimitri said. “I’m fine.”

The professor bit her lip.

“Dimi…”

“We’ll have to take up arms against the villagers who are rampaging,” Felix said.

The professor’s gaze was drawn towards her other students. Her distraction was a blessing. If Dimitri was going to keep his head, he needed to be allowed to force the memories away. Not recount them.

“Oh dear.” Mercedes twisted her hands together. “Isn’t there a more peaceful way to deal with this?”

“Well, saving the people who aren’t crazy is definitely our top priority!” Annette sprouted on the tail of Mercedes’ question. “Let’s get on with it!”

“Slow down, Annette…”

“Your Highness.”

Dedue’s voice overrode whatever it was that Sylvain was saying. Dedue lifted his hand to point through the village to the distant square. The rest of the students, the professor and Jeralt fell silent as they looked in the direction he indicated.

“Suspicious figures,” Dedue said. “They seem to be watching.”

The note of disgust in Dedue’s voice latched onto Dimitri’s soul as he saw them. A group of figures in black robes were gathered on the platform that usually served as a stage for town meetings and local festivals. They were not engaged in the fighting and were far too calm in the midst of such chaos. By the glow of the fires, Dimitri counted four of them. The figure in the center looked familiar, but at such a distance Dimitri could not make our any features.

And it mattered not. The disgust entered Dimitri’s blood, searing through his veins. It lent strength to his limbs and fuel to his mind.

Dimitri lifted himself off Dedue.

“Your Highness?” Dedue said quietly, concern etched in his face.

And Dimitri was not there. He was not in Remire Village. Before him stretched a different landscape with burning carriages and blackened bodies. The death moans of dozens of soldiers, of family and friends, sounded in a jarring symphony as Dimitri stood helpless amongst the mess. The skin on his hands peeled from the burn sustained while escaping the royal carriage. Youth and pain rendered him useless.

Dimitri had watched his entire life burn that day in Duscur. His family and future had been stolen from him by nameless figures in black. Back then, Dimitri had not known how to fight, how to win, how to stop any of it from happening beyond throwing his body over that of another boy who had lost everything and taking his beating.

Things were different now. He was older, wiser, stronger. The burns that had made him useless were mere memories after the work of countless healers.

“Are they the ones responsible for this madness?” Dimitri growled.

The professor and Jeralt turned their heads towards him. Jeralt looked surprised. The professor just raised her eyebrows.

Felix suddenly locked eyes with Dimitri. A small part of Dimitri, that part of him that was separate from the Rage, cowered under the pitiless judgement of his former friend. But it was not strong enough.

“If so,” Dimitri continued, “it’s clear what must be done.”

Dimitri turned to his horse. Annette and Mercedes danced away from him, their steps sharp with alarm. Dimitri yanked his lance from where it was strapped to the saddle. As he turned back to the village, Felix snorted and drew his sword in one graceful movement.

Dimitri brandished his lance towards the mysterious figures.

“Kill them all,” he ordered. “Sever their limbs and crush their wicked skulls!”

Jeralt’s grip was like a vice as it tightened around Dimitri’s arm.

“Stay a minute!” the knight said. “There are ruffians out there, but our top priority is to rescue the villagers. Got it?”

Dimitri tugged against Jeralt’s hold. Jeralt was too strong. He flung Dimitri back towards the horses.

“You may be crown prince, but you are not commander here!” Jeralt bellowed. “You will obey my orders.”

Dimitri glowered at Jeralt. The Rage wanted to fight. But Jeralt knew who was in charge, who was the superior warrior. He did not even acknowledge the challenge.

In the face of that stubborn rebuff, Dimitri’s mind cleared a little. Amongst the noise in the village he heard children begging for help and realized that Jeralt was right. Their priority should be the people in trouble.

Dimitri lowered his lance and nodded. But Jeralt was not finished with him.

“I’ll rein in the villagers who’ve turned violent,” he said. Jeralt lifted a finger and jabbed it against Dimitri’s breastplate. “You will help rescue the others. You will take orders from Byleth. Understood?”

Dimitri nodded again.

“Right.” Jeralt focused on Dedue. “You! If he gets out of hand, knock him senseless, prince or no.”

Dedue seemed startled by the order, but he nonetheless bowed. Jeralt gave Dimitri one last glare before mounting his horse. The Rage bubbled in Dimitri’s chest, but it knew it could not win against the Blade Breaker.

“Byleth,” Jeralt said. His gruff voice softened a little when he spoke to his daughter. “Stay away from the center of the fighting. The knights will calm the riot. Focus on the villagers attacking others and nominate some students to guide the victims to safety.”

The professor nodded as she drew the Sword of the Creator.

“Mercedes, Ashe, Ingrid, to the west,” the professor instructed. “Annette, Felix, Sylvain, east. Dimitri and Dedue with me. Disable first and only kill if there is danger to other lives. Annette and Mercedes, when I give the signal retreat to the grove down the road with the villagers and tend their injuries. Felix and Ashe, cover them. Ingrid and Sylvain return to me.”

The Blue Lions shouted affirmations as they prepared their weapons. Dimitri moved to join their advance, but the professor lifted the Sword and blocked his way.

“Do not even attempt to take on those people until Jeralt gives the order,” she said.

Dimitri met the professor’s eyes and saw how serious she was. She would enforce what she said. The Rage wailed, whining that where injury had held him back before, now the professor’s instructions did. Why should he take orders? His revenge could begin here.

“Understand?” the professor pressed.

Even the Rage could not fight years of training in the ideals of knighthood and chivalry. As the force of habit chained Dimitri’s will, he tightened his grip on his lance and answered.

“Yes ma’am.”

The professor nodded in satisfaction.

“Stick close to me.”

*

When the Death Knight appeared, Dimitri’s control of the Rage shattered. Here was the man who had escaped after the Rite of Rebirth, who had kidnapped Flayn and Monica. He was guilty of countless crimes. He served the Flame Emperor. And Dimitri was expected to hold back?

Dimitri charged towards the mounted warrior alone, ignoring Byleth’s screams for him to stop. He lifted his lance and thrust it towards the Death Knight. The Death Knight raised his shield, battering the lance away with strength greater than Dimitri’s own. The reverberation of the blow travelled up Dimitri’s arm. His shoulder jarred. The lance fell from his grip.

The Death Knight urged his horse after Dimitri as he fell back. Dimitri had never seen the reaper so close. With pointed teeth incised in the mouthpiece of the blackened helm and sharp red eyes peering through the visor, he appeared as an unholy demon. It was a spark to the Rage, but the Death Knight seemed bored as he twisted the scythe so its sharp edge faced Dimitri.

“You are not the one I crave...” he uttered.

Despite the fury flowing through Dimitri’s body, he knew that without a weapon he would not survive this confrontation. He cast about for one, but his lance was out of reach. His fellow students were too far away to help.

Dimitri suddenly realized he was going to die.

There was a rush of wind as something glowing red whipped past his face and wrapped around the Death Knight’s scythe. The Death Knight groaned in a strange, satisfied way as the professor appeared in front of Dimitri. She pulled on the Sword of the Creator. The scythe was ripped from the Death Knight’s grip. The professor caught it and threw it at Dimitri.

“My pleasure…” the Death Knight said as he raised his hands in the shape of a spell. “Do your best to kill me with that blade…”

The professor was silent as she faced the Death Knight. She never spoke in battle. She was efficient and beautiful in her movements. The Rage squealed in glee as the professor pushed herself off the ground with a rush of magic and lifted the Sword of the Creator high.

The Death Knight cried out when the Sword crashed down on his shoulder. It was a blow no normal man could hope to endure. A Hero’s Relic was capable of slicing a man’s arm clean away with such a blow. But, somehow, the Death Knight’s armor was merely dented. For a moment Dimitri thought the attack was ineffective, until he saw the Death Knight’s arm flop uselessly by his side.

With a sigh, the Death Knight pulled his horse away from the professor.

“The weak will eventually die…” he said, his red eyes fixed on Dimitri. He disappeared in a brilliant flash of light.

“No!” Dimitri cried, surging forward.

The professor rounded on Dimitri and shoved him away from the place the Death Knight had been moments before.

“What orders did I give you?” she cried.

Dimitri stared at her as he regained his balance. The professor never yelled. But now she looked shaken. He couldn’t think why. They were both alive.

Unable to handle her unprecedented display of emotion, Dimitri rolled his shoulder to test its function. It hurt, but he could move his arm freely. He could return to the fight.

“Professor, I…”

The moment the words fell from his mouth, the professor held up a forbidding hand.

“Fall back, Dimitri,” she said. Her voice was shaking. “Retreat.”

Dimitri could not. He shook his head.

“That was an order.”

The professor’s eyes were wide, her jaw clenched. Dimitri had truly angered her, but he didn’t understand how.

“I…”

“Ah, the cursed Fell Star.”

The professor spun, placing herself in front of Dimitri with the Sword of the Creator ready to defend them. Dimitri looked beyond her to see a familiar face.

“Tomas?” he stuttered.

Tomas planted his cane firmly on the ground as he stopped in front of the professor.

“I’m not Tomas,” he said. “My name is Solon, savior of all!”

A blinding blue light flashed around the librarian. Dimitri lifted a hand to shield his eyes. When his sight cleared, he saw not Tomas, but a stranger unhuman in his appearance. His head was oddly proportioned and his right eye distended with black markings around it. Thick veins were visible beneath the skin of his forehead.

“What’s the matter?” Solon mocked. “So shocked you can’t even speak? You were so easily fooled by my disguise.”

“Then it was you?” Dimitri demanded, his hand tightening on the shaft of the Death Knight’s scythe. “You are responsible for everything that happened?”

Solon laughed manically.

“Such a simple mind, boy,” he said. “But you are insignificant. I only care about the Fell Star.”

Solon raised a hand. Instinct taking over, Dimitri rushed towards him.

“Dimitri!” the professor shouted.

The spell felt like dozens of shards of glass ripping through Dimitri’s flesh. He dropped the scythe as he stumbled and fell to his knees. Pain racked his body, feasting on his strength. He doubled over, gasping and clenching his fists.

A shadow fell over him. Dimitri looked up to Solon standing there.

“You think you can kill me?” Solon asked.

The shrill cry of a warhorse scraped Dimitri’s ears, sensitized by the spell. He flinched away from the hooves of Jeralt’s horse. He thought he would be trampled, but someone pulled him away to safety at the last moment.

When he recovered his bearings, Dimitri found himself resting against the professor a few feet from where Solon was now cornered by Jeralt’s spear.

“Why have you gone after this village?” Jeralt barked. “What are you planning?”

Solon laughed again.

“I could have conducted this experiment on any subjects,” he said. “I have what I came for. Farewell.”

Solon released his cane and clapped his hands together. The crooked cane felt to the ground, abandoned.

“Damn it!” Jeralt cursed, thrusting his spear into the ground.

As the knight lost his temper, Dimitri felt his own fade. With the sudden, unresolved end to the battle, the Rage retreated to its hiding place, leaving weakness in its wake. Dimitri’s body ached all over. His shoulder throbbed in agony. A small groan escaped his lips. This was the way of things – as the Rage faded, the pain increased.

The professor shifted and helped Dimitri sit up.

“Where are you hurt?” she asked.

Dimitri shook his head.

“Dimitri, that was the strongest cast of Banshee I have ever seen,” the professor stated. “You are hurt.”

Jeralt swung off his horse, landing on the ground with a thud. He knelt down beside the two of them.

“Do you need help, Your Highness?” Jeralt asked, his voice kind.

Dimitri’s chest burned. He shook his head and pushed himself to his feet, trying to keep his expression clear as his limbs stung with the effort.

“I will survey the village,” he said. “There may still be some survivors.”

Both the professor and Jeralt looked as though they did not believe him, but they did not reply.

Screams and silence.

Jeralt stood and stretched his back before reaching out to help his daughter to her feet. The professor pursed her lips, her eyes on Dimitri as she brushed the dirt from her armor. Dimitri walked away as quickly as his injuries would allow. He could not bear to be near them.

Dust and flames.

Dimitri did not survey the village. He headed directly to the line of trees to the south, ignoring the calls of his classmates. He did not look left or right, did not dare take in the destruction or the bodies that lay prone on the ground. He had seen it before and was scared of what seeing it again would do.

Blackened skin and burning flesh.

In the safety of the trees, Dimitri kept walking until he could no longer hear the sounds of the knights and his friends.

Screams and silence.

At the place the trees grew too dense to go further, Dimitri allowed himself to crash to his knees. He dug his fingers into the dirt as burning tears ran down his face. He bit his tongue to stifle the sobs and moans. If he made noise, they might find him. And no one could see him in this state. No one.

Four years before, Dimitri had won the battle against his emotions. From the bed in the castle of which he was suddenly lord, he decided that his reason for living was revenge. Seeing his father beheaded before his own eyes left no alternative. Dimitri was the only one left to collect the debt.

Upon leaving his sickbed, he discovered how uncomfortable his resolution made the people around him. When Dimitri told Rodrigue of his plans in words filled with pain, Rodrigue paled and suggested that revenge was not the thing Dimitri’s father wished him to pursue.

So Dimitri concealed his purpose behind a calm façade and euphemisms. He spoke of the burden of his father’s work, of ensuring that the dead bore no regrets. He chained his anger. He buried his sadness alive. He rationed trust and swallowed happiness. He banished fear.

Over time Rodrigue accepted that the young prince had healed and focused on other tasks. Dimitri learned that control was found in hiding emotions.

Today he had failed in that vital task. The state of Remire Village had broken the fortress around everything he had carefully removed from sight. It had spilled out for all to witness. He had revealed himself as unworthy and wretched.

Dimitri lifted his right fist and punched it into the ground. The pain drove his focus from his tears, helping empty his heart. He had to fix things. He would lock the emotions back in, out of view, away from the judgement and advice of others. And then they would only appear in his nightmares and things would go back to normal.

*

After the last day of classes for the week, Dimitri fled to the training grounds while everyone else headed towards the dining hall. Dedue tried to accompany him, but Dimitri outright forbid him from doing so. Unable to disobey a direct order, Dedue had hesitantly trailed after the others.

For the entire week they had all avoided speaking about Remire. Ashe, Mercedes and Annette seemed wary of him. Sylvain had spent every rest hour teasing Dimitri about girls, trying to smooth over the tension. While Felix harrumphed in the corner and Ingrid watched in uncharacteristic silence.

Dimitri had tried to return to his former self. But it seemed awkward now. Now that the entire class was aware of his true self, it was difficult to keep up the charade. Today he couldn’t sustain it for the whole dinner hour as well. He was exhausted.

When the professor entered the training ground a little while later, Dimitri was sitting on the benches catching his breath after a series of intense lance exercises. He should have known she would come looking for him. She took her role as professor very seriously.

Dimitri didn’t call to her as he usually would. He waited while she glanced around. When her eyes stopped on him and she immediately moved towards him, he knew that, as he had suspected, she had come looking for him when he didn’t appear at dinner.

Dimitri looked down at the leather cuff around his right wrist and began to twist it as though searching for a better fit.

“That injury still bothers you?” the professor asked as she sat down beside him.

“It started irritating me again after Remire,” Dimitri said. “And…”

Dimitri stopped. He was fool. When speaking to the professor alone, Dimitri was used to being forthright and honest. From habit and without thinking, he had strolled directly into the topic he had so studiously avoided.

The professor rested her chin on her hand, regarding Dimitri. Despite her blank expression, Dimitri knew she was waiting for him to continue. Waiting for him to explain why he had not explained himself.

Dimitri flipped his arm over so he could unbuckle the cuff.

“Professor, I…I’m sorry you saw that side of me in the village,” he said. “It must have been quite a shock.”

“You weren’t yourself.”

The professor spoke without a hint of emotion. It was a statement of fact. She did not know how mistaken she was.

“I see why you could say that,” he said, and congratulated himself on evading the truth. Because if the professor knew the truth, she would despise him too.

“Dimitri, what causes this anger?” the professor asked. “I have never seen you behave like that before. It frightened the other students.”

Dimitri freed his arm from the cuff and held it in his hands, flicking one of the buckles back and forth. She was addressing him as a teacher, not as the friend she had been for those brief days before the Church hired her. Even though they were not too far apart in age, there was a barrier between them. He indulged a moment in imagining what it would be like if they were friends. But then he faced reality and answered as a student should answer his teacher, with an honest but reasoned answer.

“I’ve told you before that we sometimes find ourselves facing something we cannot accept. That’s what the chaos in Remire Village was to me,” he said. “Solon and the Flame Emperor kill the innocent. They do not deserve our forgiveness.”

“OK. If I accept that, will you tell me the reason this particular event, rather than the others we have faced this year, caused you to lose control?”

Dimitri clenched the cuff in one hand. He had been caught.

While the flames burned in the back of his mind, ever present, Dimitri whispered, “Duscur.”

When he looked up at the professor he saw her face light with understanding. Although she had been ignorant of his past at the beginning of the year, she had now heard enough to guess why Remire had been different.

“I’m sorry, Dimitri.”

It was the first time the professor had verbally expressed any form of condolence to Dimitri for what he had lost. It felt warm and comforting, unlike the empty words of so many nobles.

“May I say something?” the professor asked.

Dimitri nodded. What right did he have to refuse?

“The people you lost would be ill-served by your death,” the professor said. “Putting yourself in peril, especially when you are driven by anger, would grieve them. Take this from someone who has watched her father race into danger time and time again.”

Dimitri was taken aback by the confession. He had never considered that Jeralt’s job as a mercenary might bother the professor, especially since she was in the same trade. He wondered if Jeralt also disliked that his daughter regularly stared death in the eyes. But then, he had raised her in his image. So it should not.

Just as Dimitri’s father had raised his son in his image. There was no escaping it. And so there was no escaping duty. Dimitri took a deep breath as he realized that he and the professor had something in common.

“Professor, there’s a reason I came to the Officers Academy,” Dimitri said. “Just one reason.”

The professor blinked.

“What?” she asked at length.

“I came here for revenge.”

Dimitri waited for the professor to turn white, or splutter, or protest. She did none of those things. She just stared at him. Thoughts must be churning through her mind, but she gave no clue as to their content.

After a minute that seemed like an eternity to someone waiting for his judgement, the professor crossed one leg over the other and turned her piercing gaze to the ground.

“The best revenge is not to be like your enemy,” she said.

The words stung. Dimitri flung the cuff to the ground as he stood.

“Is that what you think of me?” he spat. “That I am like those people who destroyed my family? Or Solon?”

“No.”

Her correction was so soft Dimitri barely heard it. But nonetheless a wave of shame and embarrassment swept over him.

“I think that your desire to protect the innocent is your revenge,” the professor continued. “I have heard bits and pieces about how Dedue came to be your friend. The moment you put yourself on the line to protect him, you got your revenge on the people who killed your family.”

Dimitri turned to the professor. In the fading daylight, he was suddenly struck by her simple beauty. As flush rose to his cheeks. He quickly attributed the thought to the fact that no one had ever spoken to him with such genuine kindness after witnessing the dark places in his soul.

“That is something I had never thought of,” Dimitri said.

The professor shrugged.

“I read the quote in an ancient philosopher’s text,” she said. “I think it applies.”

Dimitri looked towards the ground.

“I hope it does,” he breathed.

**Author's Note:**

> “The best revenge is not to be like your enemy” is a quote from Marcus Aurelis’s _Meditations_.
> 
> When replaying the Blue Lions route, I was surprised to discover the taste of Dimitri’s post-time skip self in chapter 8. I had forgotten all about it. And so of course this grew into a mind worm and this fic came into being.
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed this little character study.


End file.
